Ren

✮⋆˙ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ⋆˙𝐇𝐢 𝐈’𝐦 𝐑𝐞𝐧 ✮⋆˙ ⋆˙ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

✮⋆˙⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡ 22 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝 ✮⋆˙⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

✮⋆˙⋆ 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐉𝐉𝐊, 𝐀𝐎𝐓, 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐔𝐤, 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 ✮⋆˙⋆｡

✮⋆˙⋆｡𖦹° 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬. 𝐌𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨. 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 ✮⋆˙⋆｡

- 💌 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐃𝐌 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞. 💌

✮⋆˙⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆‧₊✮⋆˙⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆‧₊✮⋆˙⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

- ⚠️ 𝐁𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 ⚠️: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐮𝐛 𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬.

- ⚠️ 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 ⚠️ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝.

Unfortunately no. I feel like I’m writing for an audience of ghosts half the time. No one comments, reposts or likes my fanfics. Probably because they’re mediocre and amateurish, but the point still stands. But like genuinely I think people should interact way more with writers if they want them to continue updating because some of us get very uninspired easily if we think no one reads ours stuff

Sorry I didn’t finish the rest and also my Remmick obsession had dwindled over the summer 🥀💔

Pretty Little Thing

Remmick x Black Female Reader

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

Reuploaded, edited and proofread

Tags and Warnings: Chicago 1930s Au, Mafia Au, Remmick is in an Irish mafia, Remmick is still a vampire, Reader is 22 years old, everyone is up North from the South, Age gaps, slow burn, eventual smut, dub-con, (maybe—non-con), lengthy fanfic.

Summary: At the twins' new night club in Chicago, you give an opening performance and among the crowd of onlookers a certain Irish man from the other side of the Southside eyes linger a little too long on you.

A/N: ⚠️ Hi, everyone!! Before diving deeper to read this story, I ask that you throughly read the tags and know what you’re about to read. This contains dub-con and maybe non-con. Please be aware of those factors if you’re uncomfortable with that. If not please proceed and enjoy! ⚠️

I put this extra warning because someone on ao3 felt it had non-con in it in later chapters. I apologize profusely for that because it wasn’t what I thought I was writing and I don’t want anyone else to have the same experience as that person, so please tread carefully and be warned!!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

The smell of his cologne, expensive and potent, burns your nostrils as he hovers your body. Like a doe eyed deer caught in headlights on a pitch black road, you're a statue. He pulls his collar tie loose.

“W-What are you doing?” You scurry backwards, but his hand wraps around your ankle and yanks you back in place. “G-Get off!” Your heart skips wildly, an never ending dreadful beat.

A smile slowly stretches across his face, devouring the horror and confusion painted on your pretty features. He dips his head next to your ear. The warmth of his breath tickles the shell of your ear, igniting a myriad of goosebumps across your exposed skin.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I ain’t gonna hurt y’a,” he whispers, his voice is husky yet sweet and soft. “Well, not too much.” You feel his lips stretch into a toothy grin against your ear.

Easily he flips you onto your belly and folds both of your arms together behind you.

With ease Remmick flips you on your belly, folding and bending your arms like paper to his will. Alarm bells blare in your brain, yet you remain unmoved, drowning in shock.

His body caging yours covers most of you like a thick, suffocating blanket that steals your breath away. Attempts to struggle against his iron grip are futile and to your surprise it further excites him to see you try. You can see it plain as day glimmering in his cool brown eyes—desire, lust and an insatiable greed. Though, too much resistance from a pretty doll like yourself irritates him to no end. Balance is key and that’s exactly what you are.

His tie digs deep into your flesh, wrapped tightly around your wrists, rendering your hands useless. Pure satisfaction fills Remmick and he adjusts himself on the couch, leaving your body sprawled on his lap. You shiver, feeling his hands ghost over your thighs and asscheeks peeking out of the sequin panties.

He whistles. “What a view.”

Blood rushes to your face at the smug little remark and without looking, you already know there’s a cocky smirk sitting on his face. You can practically hear the smugness dripping from his tone alone.

“Ugh, you old fucking pervert,” you mutter, uselessly wiggling your arms to free your wrist.

“Old man?” he scoffs. “Aww, I’m hurt.” Now he’s full of sarcasm, pulling you up to eye level.

Both of your noses merely brush at the tips as he keeps you in place with a hand at your back’s center and the other hand caressing your ass like it’s his. The closer and more you look at the older man, it seems the more dangerously handsome he looks. It makes your eyes flicker where his eyes don't linger and butterflies dance in your belly.

Your body is confused, but your mind is strong. He feels horribly wrong. Is it his age? His race? The killing fact that he’s in a gang? Or is it because he’s an enemy of your older cousins? Maybe it’s all of that and more. You can’t quite put your figure on it yet.

“You shouldn’t be doing this…it isn’t right and you know it. This isn’t part of our deal, even if it’s your terms,” You mutter.

He lifts your chin with a finger to meet his gaze. “If that mattered to me don’t you think you wouldn’t be here at my establishment, deep in my territory?” Remmick tilts his head.

True, he has a point. Still it doesn’t make any sense. Someone like him has no business entangling himself with you. On your side of town people treat you like a princess, one who needs constant protection and attention. A damsel in distress.

Why?

It all began when Smoke and Stack made their mark in Chicago and folks found out you were related. Times used to be somewhat rough before the twins' powerful influence over town. Especially after your mother’s abrupt passing, leaving you to fend for yourself at the ripe age of nineteen.

“So, this is wrong! I shouldn’t even be here. I belong on the other side of town with my people, not here with you and yours!”

A harsh slap lands on your thigh, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Enough.” His hand gently strokes your stinging skin. “I really don’t give a damn about what you’re saying, honestly.”

As you stare deeply into his eyes there it comes, a crimson glow again. They don’t glimmer like usual instead there’s an empty lake of nothing. You don’t understand why, but your heart sinks low. Something about this man is unnerving. One minute he’s all smirks and the next he’s cold to the touch. Words try climbing up your throat but they fall and tangle, stuck in your throat.

Your vision blurs as pain ignites through your scalp. You blink, your eyes now gazing at the shimmering chandelier up above. Pulling at your hair is his hand, an iron grip blossoming a newly found burning pain in the back of your skulls

“What are you–”

“Authority,” Remmick begins, his voice firm and dangerously low, “it’s to be respected, obeyed, understood and without any questioning.” His free hand sweeps over your bare neck. From your collar bone up to your chin his fingers touch. “A man of my high status cannot let such disobedience go unchecked.” He laps at his lips, drinking in your trembling frame. “You see, my image, my reputation can, no, it will be tainted if I let a little doll like yourself go around disrespecting me. What would my men think of me? My enemies, hmm?”

A pet peeve Remmick has always had since his time in the underworld of Chicago’s gangs is disrespect to authority. He doesn’t care who’s doing it. Rather it’s his men, people living in his territory and or even his pretty dolls. No one gets away with it without reaping the consequences of his deadly law. In his wicked ruling no one is above his law.

Which applies to you as well.

The air in the room falls eerily quiet as a small click echoes off the walls. Your hearing is drowned out by your own drumming heart and uneven breathing. Something cold, hard and sharp meets your skin. You flinch, mind racing, wondering what it is. Softly and slowly it drags across your delicate skin.

His lips, soft and gentle, litter kisses on your throat. “Such a pity to soil a pretty neck like yours.”

The coolness of its sharpness leisurely presses and presses deeper into your skin. Then pain blossoms in your neck, your breath hitching in your throat. Your whimpers, laced with pain and horror fill the room.

“Shh, don’t cry. Take it like a good girl.” He licks the trickling blood on your neck, taking his sweet time savouring the honey-like taste. The taste nearly drives him over the edge into a pool of unchecked impulsion.

Some part of you wants to grovel, beg, plead with him to stop this madness. Another part of you refuses to give in. All your life you were always the one underneath the boots of others and you’re fed up with it. Even in the den of a beast like Remmick, your blood boils over the brim with the infuriating thought of begging him to stop. Why did it have to be you? For once you want to be on the fence’s other side.

The pocket blade draws another slit in your throat. More blood drips and the throbbing agony swallows your determination whole. A sob rips past your shaky lips as hot tears flow down your cheeks. “S-Stop it, please.”

Remmick licks the blood on his bottom lip. A tent swells in his slacks hearing your shaky breaths and miserable cries. It’s music to his ears and a sight for him and him alone to behold. Your sobs grow louder when the blade drifts to the upper side of your neck. One deep slice there and you would bleed out, dying.

“Be quiet or I’ll cut and make it painfully slow, Sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches, sobs caught in your throat.

“Do you understand now?” He presses the dagger into your skin, but not hard enough to break skin. “Right now I could kill you and no one would fucking know,” he whispers. “B-but what about my body?” He mocks, hints of twisted mischief deep in his voice. “It’ll be deep at the bottom of Lake Michigan or buried underneath this club's grounds with the rest who dared test me.”

His grip tightens on your hair. Quietly, you whimper, shaking like a leaf in the wind. You’re familiar with cruel power from men like Remmick Afterall you’re related to the twins and once saw their brutal punishments for traitors, enemies and whoever stood in their way. But, you never found yourself at the mercy of men like them. Men like Remmick.

He pushes the blade deeper, unafraid to draw blood. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Yes, I understand, so please don’t, I understand,” You splutter between sobs. The aching grip on your hair releases and relief spreads through your neck’s bones. Tears and snot stain your pretty face as your eyes meet his.

“Good girl.” He kisses your tears away before pecking your forehead. “I’m glad you understand, Sweetheart.”

This man is insane. You watch him smile as if he didn’t threaten and torture you with a blade hurried in your skin.

••••••••••••••••

You return home with two dollars paid on your debt to the Irishman and haunting reminders plastered on your neck for any and all to withhold. In your apartment’s bathroom you gaze into your reflection in the mirror. For what feels like an eternity you stare at your neck, your hands tracing engraved lines of the fresh wounds.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Tears sting your eyes and fall before you blink.

Suffocating waves of regret drown you as endless thoughts of what you should’ve done at the twins’ club fill your mind. If only you hadn’t drank his booze, no, if you would’ve taken the twins’ answer for no none of this mess would’ve happened. You want to run far away and hide where Remmick can’t find you. Maybe even leave the country, but the aching wounds turning an ugly purple and dark brown warns you not to. They scream he’ll come find you and when he gets his hands on you the suffering will be an unexplainable kind.

Then there’s your friends and family who reside here. The twins, Mary, Annie, Sammie, Bo, Grace, Delta Slim and everyone else. Their lives will be on the line if he doesn’t manage to get his greedy hands on you. Too many high stakes and all because of a stupid debt you owe.

Sparing one last glance at the mirror, you turn the water on in the tub, filling it to the brim. Shiny bubbles and a fresh scent of lavender fills the tiny space. You strip and sink into the water, letting it wash all your worries away.

••••••••••••••

Cigar smoke clouds the room’s every crevice. Two women, young, vibrant and needy, cling to Remmick’s sides. They press their breast on his firm arms, both fighting for his attention as he takes drags of his cigar. No matter how much they desperately try to get his undivided attention, it fails. He’s too busy handling business with the man opposite to him on the other couch.

Remmick slides a photo across the table between them. “You know this doll?”

The other man, a black man from your side of town, leans forwards. He picks up the photo, analyzing it. “Yeah,” he says and drinks from an entire bottle of booze. “This here’s them Moore’s boys little cousin.”

Remmick’s lips curl, his eyes wildly glinting. “Yeah, I need a tiny favor done.”

The man takes another gulp of booze and wipes his wet chin. “How much dough we talkin’ bout, boss man?” He sheepishly grins.

“Fifty dollars.”

His eyes glimmer, greed plaguing him. “Deal.” He shakes hands with the Irishman.

Pretty Little Thing

Remmick x Black Female Reader

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

Reuploaded, edited and proofread

Tags and Warnings: Chicago 1930s Au, Mafia Au, Remmick is in an Irish mafia, Remmick is still a vampire, Reader is 22 years old, everyone is up North from the South, Age gaps, slow burn, eventual smut, dub-con, (maybe—non-con), lengthy fanfic

Summary: At the twins' new night club in Chicago, you give an opening performance and among the crowd of onlookers a certain Irish man from the other side of the Southside eyes linger a little too long on you.

A/N: ⚠️ Hi, everyone!! Before diving deeper to read this story, I ask that you throughly read the tags and know what you’re about to read. This contains dub-con and maybe non-con. Please be aware of those factors if you’re uncomfortable with that. If not please proceed and enjoy! ⚠️

I put this extra warning because someone on Ao3 felt it had non-con in it in later chapters, I apologize profusely for that because it wasn’t what I thought I was writing and I don’t want anyone else to have the same experience as that person, so please tread carefully and be warned!!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

“How much do I owe you?” You squeak, voice stricken with fear.

“Thirteen dollars and fifty cents.”

Your lips part at the way he causally says the price as if smuggled Canadian Whisky doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.

A nervous giggle slips you. “But I’ve only got fifty cents to my name, Sir!”

Remmick rises from the red couch, hands buried deep in his black slacks. “That’s an easy fix.”

Smokes stands dangerously close to Remmick. Eye to eye with him, he shields you from the other man’s view.

“Or we can arrange shit right here, right now and leave my little cousin out of this,” Smoke begins. “Afterall, you came here for business, not my family.” His brown eyes are raging pools of fire.

In rare moments like this everyone including Stack shivers in the presence of Smoke when he gets like this. On the other hand, Remmick casually stands. A bored expression resting on his handsome face.

The younger twin is quick at his brother’s side. “Easy, Smoke.” He graces his older brother’s tensed shoulder, giving a soft squeeze.

“I don’t like repeating myself, Moore. I want the little birdie to pay me what she owes me.” Remmick strolls to the bar where you are.

Too close for your liking. It makes your stomach flip and stir the booze you drank earlier.

He pours himself a drink and gulps it all down, not flinching once. “Not to mention you’re in no position to be callin’ shots. Wasn’t it your boys caught causing trouble on my turf?” He tilts his head like a fox, a mocking smile dancing on his face.

The twins freeze and color drains from their faces before shame settles in. They despise being reminded of that bloody turf dispute. It left people in the masses six feet under in the dirt. And since it was on behalf of their own men it makes their gang look like a circus of fools. Oh, can’t forget how it chains them at the mercy of the Irish gang's feet, like a dog with its tail tucked between its hind legs.

“Don’t rub it in,” Stack murmurs, annoyed.

Remmick throws his hands in the air.

Two shiny golden signet rings decorate each index finger. “No, no! Just a friendly little reminder is all!”

If it wasn’t for your mere presence in the room and now tangled deep in their web of business, Smoke would’ve shot the cocky bastard where he stands. Though, he knows it won’t do much harm. Silver bullets only do so much damage to a freak of nature like Remmick.

The longer you remain in the room the more the air gets deadlier and toxic to inhale.

So, you force yourself to speak up. You want out. Now! “Listen, sir,” you say and their eyes all dart to you. “I don’t have all the money right now, but I’ll have it for you in a week or two, so–”

“No, you see that won’t do, Sweetheart.” He shakes his head.

“What? Why not?”

“Cause I need my dough now and on my terms.”

Smoke’s hands are quick to aim pistols at Remmick. Wild flames burn and dance wildly behind his cinnamon eyes. “Fuck that. Fuck the turfs. I don’t give a shit bout that no more. I ain’t giving up my flesh and blood to the enemy, I know what you’re playing at, fucker.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden flash of guns. Situations involving the twins, you always make sure to stir clear of. But now you’re caged in the deadly crossfire, and hating every minute of it. You don’t want to witness bloodshed.

“S-Stack, he’s not gonna shoot him, is he?” You stammer, eyes anxiously bouncing between Remmick and Smoke.

The question goes unanswered and unheard as Stack pulls his guns out too. They surround the Irish man like sharks in search of human blood. Their faces are made of stone and steel. But, Remmick remains unmoved, plainly leaning on the bar’s table.

In your eyes he’s got a death wish the way he still manages to smile, playing Russian roulette with the grim reaper himself.

“You get on outta the way.” Smoke waves his gun at you. His eyes never wander away from its target.

“We finna blow this motherfucka to pieces,” Stacks adds, finishing his brother’s sentence.

Without any questions doubting their authority, you bolt far behind them. You know better than to disobey two blood thirsty demons like them.

“So, it’s a war you want?” Remmick raises a brow.

Their fingers waver on the triggers. A gang war. It won’t be the first blood bath they’ve seen in Chicago’s hellish underworld. When the twins first arrived in the Windy City, immediately they were sucked into the gut wrenching world of gangs and violence. They saw it all. How innocent souls fell victim to unjust, cruel murder simply because a man controlling a group of men couldn’t get along with another man just like himself puppeteering other men.

They swore to never allow another massacre to occur again. No, not on their watch at least. Yet, here they are, guns aimed at a man with the power to crush their community with one lift of a finger.

Remmick knows it and the twins know too, this won’t end well. No, it will end with streets soaked in blood, lakes of it.

A gunshot, loud and ear splitting pierces the thick veil of silence blanketing the air. Crumpled low on the shiny marble tile, your hands cover your ringing ears. Eyelids fluttering, you inspect your surroundings for fresh blood staining the floor. Instead, there’s only fragments of glass shards from the bottle of Canadian Whisky you drank.

You blink, heart wildly skipping as streams of shaky breaths fall from your lips.

Threads of steam flow from Smoke’s gun. “Fuck!” He growls and flings the pistol. It clatters on the floor. He paces, pinching his nose bridge. “We can’t afford a damn war.”

Stack chest deflates, calm waves of relief flooding his senses. “Damn, Smoke. Why you gotta go makin’ messes and shit?”

The backroom’s door flies open with Sammy and Bo bolting in.

“What the hell’s going on back here?” Bo demands. Brows twisted in confusion. But, his shoulders go slack when he sees the spilled booze mixed with glass. “The fuck y’all got goin’ on back here?”

“Nothin’, just a deal gone south!” Stack shines a smile at Bo and Sammy.

As quick as they came in, Sammy and Bo return back to the front and the thick airless atmosphere clouds the backroom again. You shift heel to heel awkwardly as you wait and ponder what’s next.

“What’s the terms, Irishman?” Smoke exhales. His eyes burn—fury entangled with defeat.

Wait what?

A sinister smile pulls at Remmick’s lips.

—--------------

By the end of the night you end up with an invisible chain of debt locked around your neck. It weighs your shoulders to the fiery pits of hell. In hindsight you found yourself making the best of it.

Saying, at least there wasn’t any blood spilled.

Afterall you just have to sing for the Irish man at his night club—easy peasy. Right?

The Irish nightclub on the other side of town is nothing like the one you performed in on your side town. Here, the eyes of people who look nothing like you stare. It doesn’t take a child to understand the look in their eyes. It’s crystal clear.

Some stare with pure hatred, like you’re the spawn of satan while others look at you like you’re some lost puppy in a world of danger. Regardless of their unsaid thoughts, their eyes make your skin crawl.

You want to go home back where people are welcoming and look exactly like you. If this is a punishment from the Irish man he sure did a splendid job because you hate every bit of this.

In the women’s dressing room, tears burn your eyes, begging to fall, but you refuse to let them. Whatever sick gag this man is pulling, you won’t let get to you. No, at least not in his domain.

“You okay, honey?” A soft voice says nearby.

You look around to only find empty chairs in front of the lit up mirrors with multiple glowy bulbs. Seeing no one in any of the chairs makes you think you’re already going insane until the voice comes again.

“I’m right here, hun.”

Behind you in one of the pale pink couches, is an older lady with chocolate brown locks neatly styled. Makeup without a trace of error coats her face and compliments her sharp features.

“Oh, hello there…” You voice trails off. “Didn’t see y’a there on the way in here.”

“Actually I just came in,” she admits. In seconds she occupies a seat next to you. “Don’t worry, honey, no one here will hurt you.”

You cock a brow at her odd sincerity for a complete stranger—you. Maybe she’s one of the ones who feels bad for your being here? You resist the temptation to roll your eyes at her for it. Of course you somewhat appreciate her, but still it rubs you the wrong way.

The soft smile stops reaching her eyes as she stares. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

You blink, wordless. Being outright rude won’t cut it. Though, what you’d say isn’t meant to cut deep. You’re positive she’d take it that way anyways, your words wounding her fragile pride. The last thing you need is an enemy here in the enemy's home.

So, you just continue staring at her.

She sighs, fingers toying with the pearls draped around her neck. “It’s me, Mary.”

Mary. The name doesn’t ring any bells and your brain steams as you struggle to understand who she is.

You give up trying to figure out who she is. “Who?” You squint.

She sighs again, astonished. “Stacks old lady, Mary! Wait, has he never mentioned me?”

Relief fills you at the mention of Stack. Meaning they haven’t completely thrown you to the sharks afterall.

But, her guess is correct. Stack nor Smoke in fact never mentioned a white passing black woman ever, or at least not to you.

She explains the twins sent her to ensure your safety while you’re paying off your debt until an urgent knock at the door destroys the safe space you built with Mary in a short span of time. It’s time for your performance, in other words humiliation for all non kin skin folk to behold.

A tall man guides you to the destination.

Trailing after him you notice he isn’t heading to the main stage, but somewhere else. Through mazes of halls that turn, twist and a set of stairs, he finally yields at a door.

He knocks. “She’s here, boss.”

Boss? He definitely means that cocky, evil, pale man, Remmick.

The door clicks open swiftly to a room filled with dimly lit warm golden lights. Similar to the twin’s backroom, red and black paints the space. Centering the room is a mini stage inches away from the only sitting area of a round small table encircled by a spiral obsidian leather couch.

There’s no bar or any other areas. Only the stage and couch as if created for the sole purpose of a small audience. Your throat dries and your heart trembles as the man who led you here leaves.

The door clicks behind you, sealing you inside with Remmick. Goosebumps spread like wildfire on your exposed sun-kissed skin as shivering cold shivers sweep your spine.

“Don’t be shy, Sweetheart. Come on in.” Remmick, his voice is silky and so deep it reaches earth’s molten core.

Your eyes dart to where the sound comes—hidden behind cherry red curtains around the circular couch.

You Inhale in. You exhale out.

Perform for him. Get the money. Pay him. Never see him again. You drag your sharp heels on the extravagant carpeted floor.

“Hurry now. I don’t like to be left waiting.” His voice is darkly commanding yet lighthearted as if not to invoke too much fear in you.

You make your way on the stage and reside at its center. Protectively your arms wrap your frame, trying to shield overly exposed skin. Though, it doesn’t matter anyways with what he’s prepared for you to wear tonight.

An embezzled shiny snow bra with baby blue beads merely covering your top. High waist sequin panties matching your top hugs the bottom of your body.

His hungry gaze roams every inch of your body, stringing a bone chilling shiver through you. The sparkling chandelier hanging above him, illuminates his alluring features. Today, unlike yesterday, he dons a dark striped vest, white rolled sleeves and black slacks.

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Give me a show, doll.” His Irish accent is thicker than yesterday. It’s more rough and seductive on the ears.

Sensual music begins flooding the room as Remmick intensely eyes you. He’s itching to do more than simply watch.

He told himself he’ll be patient with you. Take his time peeling every layer you offer. Even if you act up or provoke him to punish you, he’ll find a way around the obstacle. He’s played with plenty of dolls. Some boring, others fun.

You, however, seem like a fun time all around. A cheeky little mouth that goes unchecked, a sprinkle of naivety to the world around you and a rare kind of pureness. Not purity in which the apple is untouched. No, you’re the kind that lacks the touch of a real man like him in every aspect.

True, you’ve only ever had one man you loved in your entire life and you gave him your virginity at the ripe age of twenty. People say it’s important who you give it to and afterwards you’re tainted rotten fruit. Or at least that’s what some old school church folk preach.

You don’t care he was the one who got it nor are you regretful. What you do regret is being naive.

You regret being naive to the point of stupidity for that man. After him you swore to yourself to never love a man that way again. But of course this Irish man doesn’t know that. Yet.

Your body slowly follows the waves of the rhythm, like riding ocean waves. His eyes devour every move you make on stage. White wispy clouds of cigar smoke float around him, adding to his heart drumming presence.

Once the music finally stops, your heart pounds in your ears and the saliva you gulp fails at soothing your dry throat. The music played so long you lost track of time and dancing felt like an eternity.

“That was satisfying,” He purrs. Remmick leans back on the leather cushion and pats his lap. “Won’tcha join me over here, Sweetheart.”

You freeze on stage. Eyes fluttering frantically. “I don’t think I will, Mr. Remmick. That wasn’t part of our deal. I’m here to perform on stage, not entertain you in such a way,” You state, finality in every word.

He shifts on the couch, lips in a small smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Oh, really?” His voice is a blank canvas.

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking my leave now.” Off stage and at the exit, you twist the handle. The knob fails to budge, setting off alarm sirens in your brain. “Let me out of here!”

He takes one last drag of his cigar before putting it out in a crystalline ashtray. Idly he rises off the couch and saunters to you. His every step thickens the air and steals air from your lungs. Like an animal stalking its prey in the woods, Remmick is calm. He knows you—his prey, isn’t going anywhere because he’s got you trapped in his web right where he wants.

Time seems to drag as he looms closer like a haunting shadow. Each passing second your confidence melts away until his frame hovers you. Goosebumps prickle your skin as his palm slams above your head. Your heart screams in your chest, terror paralyzing you.

“What’s the matter? I thought you were leaving, Sweetheart?”. His voice is colder than arctic waters. “Hmm? You’ve nothing to say?” His head tilts, almost mockingly.

You don’t say anything. Can’t say anything because your mind and body won’t allow it. In one swift blur you’re thrown over his shoulder then on the black leather couch.

Remmick x Female Reader

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

Summary: After catching Remmick cheating you dump him over text, block him and avoid him like the plague. Every night you drink and dance the pain away at parties until it eventually catches up with you.

Tags & Warnings: Modern Au, Toxic boyfriend Remmick, Obsessive behavior, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Dom/Sub dynamics, heated car scene (not really a smut), biting, Remmick is a MAJOR asshole, slight vampirism, toxic relationship themes, reader is a good girl trying to be bad

A/N: this was only proofread like twice srry for any grammatical errors

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

The moon hangs high in the sky, its silvery light dripping down on a quiet suburban neighborhood. Creatures of the night hoot and hum throbbing rhythms—a soothing white noise as you stroll through a parking lot. Your legs weigh heavy like stones from a long day at work in the library on campus not too far from your apartment.

Arms reaching to the starry sky, a yawn streams past your lips. You carry on inside, idly flashing your key card and slipping through the glass door. It doesn’t take long before you’re outside your apartment door—room 101. You enter, locking the rusty metallic white painted door.

“Rem,” you call out. Your voice bounces off the walls. “I’m home!”

With your shoes discarded off somewhere by the entrance, you trip, but manage to swiftly balance yourself. Very clumsy of you. A runny bloody nose from smacking face first on the floor wouldn’t be ideal after a long day of hard work.

Scanning the floor for the perpetrator that nearly caused you a night of pain, you spot something entirely different. Something unexpected and sweat inducing. On the floor next to your lovely boyfriend sneakers are another pair of shoes—high heels, shiny and a blinding bright pink.

What the hell? You’d never wear heels let alone pink ones.

A moan pierces the air, hot and breathy, brimming with pleasure.

Your heart drums wildly against your ribcage. And not the kind of drumming when you're bursting with excitement. No, it’s the type when you're about to dive into a two hour long exam you barely studied for.

Light layers of sweat coats your palms as you take baby steps down the dark hall. The moans become louder. More clearer in your ears mixed with heavy breaths that goes on like an uneven rhythm.

This can’t be happening.

There’s gotta be an explanation for this. You begin to scurry in circles in your brain for logical explanations, but they have the same common factor—a blaring red error because it just doesn’t make sense no matter how you try to solve the puzzle.

A dim soft hue of red slips out through the cracked door, slicing an illuminating line in the dark hall. At the door you pause, hands webbed to your sides. Slowly you peek inside.

The sight sinks your stomach to the bottom of a cold sea and your heart pounds so much it begins to hurt like there's a bleeding hole carved in your chest.

In bed, Remmick cages a girl in his arms, smothering her. From what you can make out of her you notice her stunning beauty.

She’s everything you're not and what you wish to be.

Made of stone, you're stuck and can’t stop watching as if an addiction chains you by the neck. You soak it all in. From how he handles her with the utmost gentle care and her needy moans, seductive and sweet like a dream.

Vision blurring, you tumble back to the wall. You slide down to your knees. You inhale in and out rushed breaths, uneven and uncontrolled. Their filthy, shameless noises haunt you.

You can’t take it anymore.

Wailing loudly for the whole apartment to hear, you rise up and bolt to the door.

In the bedroom, Remmick and the girl go stiff, both of their eyes wide.

“What was that?” Her brows perk and eyes glossy with fog.

“Fuck,” he hisses and jumps off the mattress.

Fast on his feet he nearly slips on his face, and chases after the sound of you. He yells your name like a broken record, but you're a blur out the door and down the hall for the emergency stairs.

He pants trailing after you. Down the spiraling stairs your cries ring in his ears. It’s a painful sound, stabbing his heart deeply with a rigid edged butcher knife.

“Please, let me explain!” His voice breaks in half.

His screams only add limitless fuel to your legs. Out in the parking lot you're quick to start up your car and zoom off onto the road like a lighting bolt.

On the parking lot curb, Remmick stands, sweat slicking his exposed skin. A shiver shakes his body as a chill wind whips by. He endlessly pants watching your car disappear into the night. He’s drowning in guilt and regret as your wails echo in his ears on repeat.

He hisses under his breathe, “fuck!”

…………

One Week Later

All your body knows is the addictive beat of music, bitter brain fogging alcohol and heart numbing drugs.

Apartment after apartment. House after house. You always find yourself outside when it’s pitch black regardless of what’s to come the next day—morning classes. So what if you don’t get any sleep? Energy drinks that make your heart race on overdrive and eye widening coffee is the key. You don’t need sleep. Hell, no one needs sleep—at least that’s the narrative you keep feeding yourself.

Or you skip class. Easy and simple. An all A’s student like you doesn’t have a problem to worry about. Not to mention all of your professors favor you anyway. They don’t care after you cry rivers of sob stories to them.

In a bathroom inside someone’s random apartment, you’re slumped on the wall as Pearline, your best friend, snaps photos. A creamy yellow mini dress hugs her shape. The tube dress displays every luscious curve she has to offer. Each pose she makes is different and her phone doesn’t stop snapping.

“Do you think Sammie will like my new post? He seems really into me, you know. Also should I dump my boyfriend?”

She casually keeps taking photos, immersed in herself like an obsessed boyfriend staring at his girlfriend. She waits for a response.

But it never comes.

Glancing at you through the mirror’s reflection, she frowns and calls your name. Still the bathroom is void of your voice. Pearline hides her phone away in her leather purple purse and turns to you.

“Hey, you alright?”

You peer up through your fluttering lashes at her.

“Huh?”

Pearline sighs, shoulders slumping and an interesting twist forms on her lips. “All you do is stare off into space, girl!” She leans on the wall with you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “You know, I’m really starting to…worry about you. Maybe this party life isn’t the answer.”

Silence, heavy and thick fills the small bathroom.

“I’m fine,” is all you manage to rasp out. Leaning off the wall, you force a smile. “Let’s go party.”

Her full brown lips purse, brows knitting. “Alright, if you say so.”

She weakly smiles back at you and trails hot on your heels as you lead the way out into the wilderness of drunk and high people.

Throughout the night you both jump and sway to the ground shaking music, hip to hip. Here and there you find yourselves in the kitchen pouring a bitter cold drink or fishing beer cans from an icy cooler.

At some point later in the night, Sammie appears and he slips her away from dancing like a sly snake from your side. You notice her absence when a guy fills her spot next to you.

“Hey,” he purrs. His eyes eerily glow in the darkness.

You attempt imitating his tone. “Hey?” It comes out as an awkward noise.

He smirks, swaying closer. “You here all alone, baby?”

“No, I’m here with my best friend.”

He looks around, a hand hovering his forehead as if to block eye blinding sunlight. “Oh yeah? I don’t see her?”

“Well,” you trail off. “She’s around.”

The guy leans in closer, his strong cologne overwhelming your nose. His hot breath hits your earlobe. “You wanna get out of here? Go have some fun?”

Arms crossed, you fight the urge to smile but your lips curl anyway. “I guess so.”

He steps back and grins. You let him take your hand, weaving you through the sea of people. He never lets go as you both walk down the stretched hall to the elevator. The double doors slide open and you get in.

You don’t understand why, but icy chills sweep up your spine and dread pulls your stomach down beneath the earth's crust.

Your eyes travel where his hand lingers, forever clawed around your wrist.

A nervous giggle slips from you. “So,” you begin, weakly smiling. “Are you ever going to let go of me? I’m not going to run off, I swear.”

His gaze burns your neck and he never looks elsewhere except there since you two have been in the enclosed space. Then it hits you, light bulbs ignite in your brain— a love mark is stamped on your neck like a tattoo.

“No, you need to be held, unfortunately.” He speaks as if controlled, voice monotone like a robot.

You gulp. A dry laugh falls from your lips and you still force a smile.

Each labeled square shaped button from nine to one lights up and when the elevator finally halts a ding rings. Before the double doors fully open he’s swift on his feet, dragging you out into the parking lot.

Damp concrete glistens underneath the pale moonlight and white clouds of fog drift turning the air into a blurry haze. Your shoes and his splash in small puddles of rain water. At the deep end of the lot abandoned by other cars he stops in front of a red car.

The engine purrs, steam smoking from it.

Odd.

“Is this your car?” Confusion knits your brows.

“Yeah.” He opens the car door, yanking you. “Get in.”

“Wait! Why is your car running? Is there someone in there?

“Don’t worry about it.” He shoves you inside and slams the door.

In a flash you’re yanking at the handle, but the door fails to open. Then you hit the unlock button and try again, but you earn the same results. Crashing waves of dread wash over you and his odd behavior starts to add up.

“Hey, let me out,” you yell. Your fist drum on the windows until hands yank you back in the darkness of the car.

You flail around, arms and legs swinging in a wild frenzy. The person shrouded in darkness and the unknown battles against you with ease. Along your backside it’s warm and firm—a man’s chest. As your heart hammers in your ears— a blaring siren, the fight rages on in the backseat.

A crunching noise rips in the car when your elbow collides with skin and bone. There’s a sharp grunt of pain. Your blink and a hand claws your neck. Long fingers, rough and tough on the palm, dig into your flesh with purpose.

You choke out a loud gasp.

“Easy now. Calm down.”

The voice rings bells in your head. For a brief second the raging oceans in your core calms, the storm clearing. In the serenity a lightning bolt strikes and the waves violently crash and thrash again.

Unable to inhale and exhale properly, you claw at the hand gripping you.

“Let go of me! Let me fucking go right now,” you scream. Though, the scream is more reminiscent of a pathetic wail.

“Calm down,” the voice urges. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

His voice is like nails on a chalk board. Irritating, insufferable and teeth gritting.

“Let me go, Remmick!”

He heavily exhales and groans. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

His warning comes in one ear and out of the other. You keep thrashing and pounding your fist everywhere on his body.

You grit out, “let go of me you asshole.”

In a blur your body is flipped. Your back hits the hard surface of the car door and your head is smushed onto the frigid cold window.

His hand finds itself hooked around your neck again. It idly holds you there and the force is breath taking, blocking your airways. You gag, lungs screaming for air.

“I said calm down. You ain’t going nowhere anyways. The doors are locked and my little buddy has the keys to open the door. Might as well get comfortable in here.”

Tears build up in your eyes before falling and with whine you shove his hand away with both hands. Pulling your limbs close, body crumpled like a forgotten note, you back up as much as you can against the door opposite to him. You desperately want all the space away from him. Even if it means your spine being dug into by the firm surface of the door.

On his side of the car he casually sits, staring at you. More specifically your neck. “See, this isn’t so bad. Is it?”

Your chest rises and falls. Your eyes avoid him, glaring out the foggy glass. “Let me out of here.”

You wipe away tears with the back of your hand. Scorching hot anger dries any leftover tears in your eyes. You refuse to cry.

“At least give me a chance to explain myself.” He huffs a sigh, eyes wide with disbelief and annoyance.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Explain what exactly, Remmick? What the hell could you possibly explain? I don’t even care anymore,” you snap.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t blocked me on everything I could’ve explained it a long time ago.”

“Whatever. Just let me out of here.”

He blows out another sigh, nostrils flaring. “It’s gonna be a long difficult night if you keep this act up. Cause me and you both know this ain’t you.”

A grimace stirs on your face and you sit up. Slowly you twist towards him. “Who are you to tell me who the fuck I am?”

His forehead creases from lifted brows. “Your boyfriend.”

You make a sound of displeasure, leaning forward. You shake your head. “No, you’re not my boyfriend.” You inch closer. “You’re nothing to me, Remmick.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah, I can see that’s what you think, sweetheart, judging from the hickies on your neck.”

The air thickens and suddenly you find it hard to breathe, an invisible force crushing your air pipes. Sliding back to the safe corner in the car, you cover your neck with a trembling hand.

“Stop looking so hard at me, creep.”

He laughs again. “Can’t forget about the slutty clothes you’ve been wearing for the last few days. Pearline’s idea I assume.”

He speaks with so much disdain it’s as if he’s actively slicing your skin with his words. You can even feel his eyes, scorching hot glossing up and down your body. From the mini jean skirt barely hiding your ass to the baby pink tube top failing to cover your belly.

“Now you're stalking me via social media and worst case scenario in person? You’re a loser, Remmick. Get a life.”

Now it’s his turn to lean in, hovering closer. “So much spunk with you now. I like this new version of you. Makes me wanna break you in so many ways you couldn’t even imagine.”

His voice reaches the depths of hell, low and raspy. Unconsciously your body tries to move away from him but the car door stops any more movement. Skin shivering chills wrap around the air.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He cocks his head, now caging you in your small corner.

“Fuck off, Remmick.”

He doesn’t.

“How many guys did you let fuck you? Was it good? Was it worth it?”

Your hands press against his chest. “Back off.”

His breath fans your cheek. A shiver zips through you, a burning desire for more. Your brain screams no, but your heart screams yes.

“You know I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

“You know I’m not yours. Not anymore.”

His hand squeezes your exposed thigh where your mini skirt doesn’t cover. He remains unmoved, eyes staring into yours. “Really?” His brows knit and he pouts, mocking you.

Gulping audibly, you nod. “Yes, really, Remmick,” you manage to breathe.

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue sparks an insatiable hunger like a raging fire inside of him. The fire grows bigger, brighter with need and want to engulf you.

His eyes never look elsewhere, glued to yours. “Wanna prove me wrong then?” His voice is a hushed whisper in your ear.

Like a naive fool you bite the bait. “Yes.”

His lips, thirsty for a taste, crash against yours. The force busts your lips and iron fills your tastebuds. You grip his shirt, bundles of the white fabric in your fist. His lips are wild, unpredictable, and hungry as he devours you. Words meant to string together sentences, he swallows whole. And when you gasp at his curious hands sneaking past your skirt, he takes the opportunity and slips his tongue in your mouth.

Every crevice of your body, he explores—hunger and desire plagues his brain. You whimper into his mouth as your hands weakly push his chest away. But, he doesn’t budge an inch. Your whimpering evolves into small shameful moans while his finger rubs slow deliberate circles on your clit hidden underneath your panties.

Remmick always did know how to make your body melt and crumble under his touch. Even now in all the burning hate you bare for him, your legs shake and back arches.

In need of air he rips away. His chest rises and falls. Yours does the same almost in sync with his. With a thumb he wipes away a string of saliva trickling down his chin. Lips swollen and wet, your face flushing, you stare up at him through your lashes.

He smirks and chuckles. The sight of you undone before him brings him amusement and swells his chest with unknockable pride.

“You don’t belong to me?” He huffs a laugh, raspy and low. “Yet you’re already soaking wet, a pathetic mess and all I did was kiss you and play with your clit.”

Shame and anger dancing together boils up in you. You glare at him through fresh tears. “Let me out of here right now.”

In a blur he’s right back in your space. “And why would I do that? I haven’t even taught you a lesson about sleeping around with other men.”

“How can you even say that to me? You’re the one who cheated on me first,” you scream. Your voice shakes, a fragile leaf in storming winds.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head. That teeth gritting look of mockery on his face again. “I didn’t cheat. Why would I ever cheat on you? You’re too precious to me. I understand that’s not the case for you. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself.”

Heart hammerjacking against your ribs, you shove at his chest. “Stop lying to me. I saw you as clear as day.”

“I don’t love that girl. She was nothing but a mere piece of food.” He smothers you with his larger firmer frame.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

He doesn’t speak, instead he showers you in kisses. On your forehead, cheeks, neck to your collarbone. Each kiss etched onto your skin feels like poison, intoxicating and addictive like a drug.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why?” You manage out through ragged breaths, your hands still pushing him away.

“How many times are you going to make me repeat myself? You know I don’t like repeating myself.”

He leans away and pulls you along with him. In his lap he cradles you, bending you like paper to his every will until he grows satisfied. You sit, legs pried open on your knees and your mini skirt rides up your thighs. In an iron grip he binds your wrists behind your back with a singular hand.

His lips curl as his free hand explores your lower body, his hand caressing your thighs and ass. “Damn, I can’t get over how you're wearing lacy panties. You never wore them for me. Aww, I’m hurt.”

He fakes a pout, eyes wide and round looking deeply into yours.

“It’s good I didn’t. You didn’t deserve it in the first place, fucking cheater,” you spit, voice laced with venom.

His chest deflates. The expression on his face fades from mocking one to another. A dark deadly storm brews behind his eyes as he scowls at you. “I’m getting tired of this little act.”

Pain blossoms in your wrist when his hand squeezes hard enough to break bone.

“Stop it! That hurts,” you whine.

“I’ve been trying to be patient with you all night and I think I’ve finally reached my limit.”

“What? Just let me out of here, Remmick. Please?”

“You wanna know why I was with that girl?”

You blink at him. You always wonder why he did it. For the first few days at Pearline’s apartment you discussed theories and ideas why Remmick cheated. It was always a maybe or an if because you never truly had the answer. Only puzzle pieces that never clicked together, leaving you running in circles chasing your own tail.

This is it. The truth at last.

“Yes. Enlighten me.” You roll your eyes before staring deeply into his. You don’t dare look away either.

You want to see it. How he looks exposing himself. The air in the backseat becomes heavy. In his irises red blossoms, bleeding into the bark brown until there’s nothing but one color—blood red.

Webs, thick and sticky traps your breath in your throat. “What the hell,” you mutter, eyes wide.

He flashes a grin, his teeth on display. But his teeth aren't the same as it was seconds ago. He has the teeth of a horror film monster—pointy, long and razor sharp.

You gulp, heart racing. “This doesn’t explain anything. Stop joking around.”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your mouth watering scent. “Fuck,” he breathes. “I’m not joking.”

You squirm in his iron hold as his tongue sweeps the side of your neck.

“What the hell are you doing? Stop being weird—”

His teeth sinks in your flesh. The world around you fades away and nothing seems to matter anymore. Until a throbbing pain spreads like wildfire where Remmick mouth is on your neck. You wail and squirm, but he easily keeps you where he wants.

He hums, drinking in every drop of blood. His eyes roll back as the sweet warm liquid pools on his tongue and streams down his throat. He’s craved this taste for so long.

“W-What are you…doing?” Tears cloud your vision and fall. “Stop. It hurts, Remmick. Please, stop, I don’t l-like this,” you cry.

Your shaky voice snaps him back to reality and he pulls away. His chest heaves as he stares at you, dazed.

Your body from head to toe quivers. Blood, fresh and hot gushing. It stains your baby pink top and jean skirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that.” With his free hand he caresses where it’s stained. “Now your cute little outfit is ruined. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Let me out…I wanna get out of here.” Fog engulfs your brain.

“I can't do that.”

He releases your wrist, ragged breaths slipping him. You tumble out of his lap to the other side of the backseats. The blood relentlessly streams and sprays in waves. Red soaks the leather car seats, making it slippery.

Don’t fight it.

Your head spins as bolts of pain pierce your brain like deadly laser beams. Hands gripping your skull, you crumple in the corner. You’re whimpers fill the car. “Ugh,” you groan. “It hurts.”

That’s right, let it happen.

Remmick slides to your side of the car and embraces you in his warm hold. “Can you hear me?”

“T-That’s you?”

“Yes, that’s me. This is the answer.”

Another wave slams and crashes in your head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will when you wake back up.” He graced delicate soft kisses on your throbbing, bleeding neck.

Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink and in your chest your heart slows. Fighting to stay awake you hook your arms around his neck.

“R-Rem, what’s happening to me? I-I don’t feel so good,” you stammer. Your eyes flutter through tears.

“Shhh, it’s okay, I promise.”

I’ll explain everything when you wake up.

Whispering voices, soft and gentle like an angel’s guiding hands pull you deeper into the darkness. You drift off slowly into a deep slumber, body numb and stiff.

Remmick x Female Reader

Summary: In the small neck of the woods in a newly found cabin, you and Remmick hide on the run from vampire hunters. One night Remmick suggests you coming hunting for blood with him and tensions arise between you two.

Tags & Warnings: Angst, violence, mentions of death, reader and Remmick is married, vampire reader, misogyny, no smut, slight fluff, over protective Remmick, vampirism elements, lots of mentions of blood, dark fanfic overall sorta, maybe a one-shot

Word count: 4k

A/N: This was only proofread once. Sorry for any grammatical errors!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི ⁺‧

Remmick, eyes creased with worry, he weakly smiles, blinking. He’s desperately searching for the right words to say to you. These days you’ve been looking quite paler with a pesky gloom clouding you.

“Hey, darlin, I’m gonna head out for a hunt tonight and,” his voice trails off, shoulders dropping as he sighs. Eyes closing.

Peeking up from an old, brittle book in your hands, you wait for him to finish. On a couch, you sit mermaid style, eyelids fluttering.

Silence fills the space between you two and it’s awfully loud as he swallows audibly.

Head slightly tilted, eyes squinting, you say, “why the long face, my love?”

Remmick sharply inhales before exhaling, bracing himself for what’s to come next. And he knows you’re not gonna like it.

You never do.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get out of this cooped cabin. Have some fun with me tonight, actually drink some real blood that’ll leave you more rejuvenated unlike that cow blood.”

“No,” you blurt softly. You stare at him, voice still sweeter than honey, but the look in your eyes tells a different story.

Remmick sighs, pinching his nose bridge as his other hand rests on his hip.

“Then just tag along with me, darlin. You need some fresh air anyways,” he says softly, voice serene.

Now it’s your turn to sigh, the book in your hands closing—a soft thud. You gently shake your head.

“No means no, Rem. You know I don’t like drinking human blood.”

Remmick huffs a loud sigh. “Yeah, that’s the problem!” He throws his hands in the air and they fall back to his sides.

Brows knitted, your gaze darts to him by the front door. “Excuse me?”

Lips pursed, nostrils flaring, he throws a glare back at you. “You heard me. You’re always like this. Acting like you too good for hunting, for human blood. As if you above it all, drinking only from animals.”

“That’s not true, Rem.”

Remmick’s feet are heavy on the wooden splinted floors, storming closer to you.

“Alright,” he begins, lips curling—a forced smile. “Then come with me tonight. Drink human blood. Simple.”

All you can offer is a stare. Eyes endlessly blinking as if he’s asking for you to slice the throats of thousands of innocents.

“Remmick, you can’t be serious right now,” you manage to breathe.

He nods, pursing his lips, sighing through his nose as he walks backwards. Disappointment glimmers in his round brown eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Springing to life from the couch, you throw the book somewhere on the floor.

“What? No,” you blurt, chest weighing heavy as stone.

“Then what is it, huh? I’m tired of tip-toeing around you when it comes to this. You don’t like coming hunting, okay that’s fine.” Remmick lists on his hands and continues, “I come home smelling and soaked in blood. You hate the smell even though it makes you visibly drool.”

“That’s not true. You take that back,” you snap, voice lacking any gentleness it possessed a few seconds ago.

Normally he would’ve stopped pressing this issue. He knows how it makes you feel. It’s a fragile area you hate exploring and it’ll make you crack, shattering all over the place.

But he doesn’t stop. No, Remmick keeps pushing. Scratch that, it’s no longer a push. It’s a breath stealing shove to the chest.

He takes angry strides to you and hovers your shorter stature. “I see the way you look. The hunger in your eyes. How your fangs sharpen,” he hisses, invading your personal bubble. “You deny it, acting so above it all but deep down inside you want it too just like me—blood. So for once how about we drop the little conceited act.”

Remmick looms so close, his and your noses nearly brush at the tips. Mouth sewn shut, his closeness eradicates any balance you have and you plop down on the couch’s cushion. All you can fathom is a wide eyed stare, watching his fire filled chest heave up and down on repeat.

Tears swell in your eyes as blood rushes to your face. Your lips quiver, tearing the invisible thread sealing them closed.

And when you do manage to speak you utter through a shattered voice, “I hate you. I hate this—living under the moon with you.”

The anger twisting his face falters, your words cutting deep in his heart and now it’s his turn to be wordless. He’s never heard you say such a thing, not even in the most sun scorching arguments.

“I fucking hate you!” You shove at his chest with enough force to bend steel.

Any average human would’ve gone crashing to the floor, maybe breaking a bone. Remmick on the other hand slightly becomes unbalanced on his feet, stumbling back. Eventually he grounds himself still in his tracks.

Off the couch, you're a sprinting blur to the shared bedroom. The cabin walls tremble as you slam the door, locking the knob.

“No, no. You get back here now, damn it! Tell me right now that you don’t mean that bullshit!” You hear Remmick roaring over stormy footsteps.

At the door, his fist wham, shaking the walls of the room you hide in. His broken yells continue to echo throughout the cabin. He almost sounds desperate, begging you to open the door. To say it again. In his face, direct eye contact.

He needs to know. What’s to know. If you truly mean it.

Unfortunately for him you don’t plan on unlocking the door. Crumpled in the corner, you’re wringing out a river of sobs. Not only did his words burn, but you know yours also did too. Guilt eats your heart alive and you refuse to face him. Not right now.

“Go away, Remmick! I don’t wanna talk to you right now!”

“Baby, please. Open the door. Let’s talk about it,” he rasps, forehead pressed against the door.

You sniffle between quiet sobs. “Go away.”

One last wham on the door jolts you upright, frame uncontrollably shaking. A low growl rumbles through him. A silent long pause. Then there’s a sigh from behind the door.

“Fine,” he breathes.

Loud and clearly you hear Remmick storm away before shaking the cabin whole, slamming the front door.

A shaky sigh slips past your lips, tears still flowing as everything replays itself in your brain, fresh and vividly clear.

………………..

An hour flies by and you sleep in bed. Remmick’s rich scent, fresh and calming, weighed your eyelids shut.

Another hour slips by and you rise from the short slumber. Drool, dry and flaky cakes on your chin. Faint hoots of an owl woke you. Plagued by boredom you wander from the bedroom in search of the book you read earlier.

Two more hours pass and still no sign of Remmick. Your loving husband would’ve been back, hugging you tightly in his warm embrace as he whispers heart melting apologies. You try to ignore the loud silence in his absence and continue losing yourself in the book.

A loud bang rings outside. The book in your hand crashes on the floor as a flinch drives through you. Looking around like a frantic mother in search of her lost child, you stalk towards the window in the bedroom. There’s nothing out there except for the darkness and trees dancing in the wind.

Another thundering bang rips through your ears but this time it comes from the cabin’s front door.

Remember it ain’t me knocking at the door. I never knock, ever. It’s someone else. If this happens while I’m out, hide until they leave.

If not, run. Run like the sun’s rising high to the sky and never look back. Don’t worry bout me cause I’ll find ya, darlin.

Your husband’s words echo in your brain and your heart hammers louder each passing second. In a flash on your feet, head whipping around in search of somewhere to hide.

Faint voices of men nearly drag you down to your knees. Within seconds your movements become less swift—more sloppier.

“Just kick it in. I’m sure it’s him living here anyways according to the locals,” a voice urges from behind the front door.

“Oh, no,” you mumble, tumbling into the bedroom.

The front door bolts open with a boom, hitting the wall. Ten men in a group spill into the small living room. Weapons, toxic and deadly as the sun decorate their bodies on holsters.

Stuffed under the bed, you hide, hands slapped over your lips trapping in heavy breaths. Skipping wildly, your heart hammers in your ears.

Before meeting Remmick you never ran into vampire hunters, only hearing tall tales about them in speakeasies or from friends and family. You didn’t believe them to be real because you were human and a hunter tracking down a vile blood sucking monster didn’t have anything to do with you—a human. Hell, you didn’t even believe in vampires' existence until it was too late and your neck was chomped to a bloody mess on a late midnight in a dark forest trail.

Echoing off the walls, casual banter and footfalls loom closer and closer each passing second. Their voices are guttural and gravelly as they speak nauseating threats of what they’re going to do to Remmick.

Abruptly, the bedroom door whines open. It sends you crumpling deeper where you hide, breath hitched in your throat.

Clacking on the floor are your belongings as one of the men search the room. Under his breath he rambles on, irritated. Once he finishes, you hear him huffing a sigh and strolling elsewhere into the hallway.

Relief doesn’t dare wash over your trembling body yet because you can still hear them loud and clear inside the cabin.

“Fuck, I thought you said the fucker would be here cause I ain’t seeing him nowhere in this shithole.”

Another man sighs, “he’s gotta be here. Maybe he’s out…looking for the next victim is my best bet.”

“That ain’t good.”

“Nah.”

Their shoes shuffle around scattered across the cabin any and everywhere. Endless wonders of when they’ll leave cloud your brain and in the mixture of it for a brief moment you begin regretting not going with Remmick

“Check in that room one more time boys. Y’all know how Jimmy can’t look to save his soul,” the ringleader of the hunters chuckles.”

His men as if on command laugh as well, except for one—the man who searched the room. He grumbles, cursing them all under his breath.

They flood inside the bedroom and turn the room upside down in a heartbeat. It’s like a tornado raged through the room, leaving yours and Remmick’s items unorganized all over the floor. Only one thing remains intact—the bed.

“Aye, Jim, check under the bed. I got a feeling we might find someone under it.”

Your hand catches the gasp rushing past your lips. Brain dizzy and drunk, you freeze as your heart slams against your ribcage. A pair of boots, beaten and huge, invade your line of vision.

You see what you prayed to not see all while these men raided your home—a pair of eyes staring right back at you. His eyes are blacker than the bottom of the great seas.

“Aww, look at what we got here.”

He stretches out a long arm for you, but your body recoils away. The man only smiles, teeth crooked and rotten, delighted with what he’s found.

“Jimmy, what you find?” The leader exclaims.

“A cute little mouse.”

Unable to slide back any more, your arm is yanked, nearly pulling a bone out of its socket from the fierce force. The man holds you up in the air, flaunting you like fresh meat before a pack of hungry dogs.

Some of them whistle at the sight of you while others gazes linger with an appetite for something foul and grotesque.

The leader of the bunch is a tall man with a menacing face. He steps close, leaving no room for you to breathe properly. His fingers tilts your face to meet his grim eyes.

“Hey there, little mouse. Me and my boys got some questions we wanna ask you if you don’t mind,” he says, voice calm as waves on a beach as he slips out a silver blade from his many pockets.

Your heart sinks at the sight. Remmick floods your brain and only him. You wish he was here now more than ever.

……….

Out in town laced with cloudy fog in every corner and street, Remmick barely brews up an appetite after leaving the cabin. Even the sweetest blood he drank from didn’t fulfill his stomach. Not with you plaguing his mind all night.

Tonight blood came easy, falling right into his lap and its taste was mouth watering. On a night like this he’d skip back to you with joy and embrace you in his arms, twirling round and round. He doesn’t do any of that though.

Instead, Remmick doesn’t even return home after having his meal of warm blood. He remains in town, hiding in the shadows and boredly watches the nightlife. Desperately he tries clawing you from his brain but it doesn’t work. You remain a restless spirit trapped inside his mind.

“Shit,” he hisses, gazing up at the moon.

He’s late. He should return home but he doesn’t. Stubborn as an ox, he strolls dragging each foot to a juke joint nearby in need of a fresh drink. Not the red kind either. The kind that makes you trip over your own feet and forget all your sorrows.

Easily, he slips past inside with his charming smile. At the bar he orders a drink and receives it without a beat wasted. Sipping on the bitter liquid, he listens to a duo of men beside him.

“Yeah, I heard Jim and the boys headed for the woods tonight in pursuit of a vampire.”

Remmick stiffens, his blood running icy cold. He sits the drinking glass down, brows knitted.

“How many of em going?”

One of the men laughs before gulping down the last bit of his drink. “About ten of em. Say they gonna torture the poor fella. They got all sorts of weapons. Man I hate to be the damn bastard, he in for a rude awakening.”

Remmick jolts off the stool and bolts out the establishment doors, slipping through several people. He’s a flash in the woods, dodging every tree, bush, and branch. The risk of wasting time wasn’t blessed upon him tonight.

“Please be alright,” he whispers like a broken record as his heart skips wildly.

Finally at the cabin, he pauses before the door, chest bouncing up and down. Vivid images of you flash before his eyes. In some you’re in one piece, peacefully fast asleep in bed. In others you’re tied up, mouth gagged, crying as shadowy figures hurt you.

The unknown of what lurks inside the cabin haunts him, but its whispers thread around his legs and pull him through the door. Remmick’s met with loud silence.

He calls out your name. No response. Sweat gathers on his temples as he walks deeper inside. Again, he calls for you and it’s the same as before. In a hot flash he’s inside the bedroom. At the disastrous mess his eyes grow wide, stomach sinking lower than it did at the bar.

He utters your name and drops to his knees. Your book, mixed among the mess, lies before him. It calls his gaze upon it and Remmick picks it up. Just as misery drowns him in a pit of endless pain he notices something staining your book.

Blood. It’s fresh, still a vibrant, shiny red.

Again, like a ghost in the night, images of you crystal clear invade his brain, eyes, ears. It’s everywhere in him. Screams. Begging. Cries. Your teary stained face. He’s tortured and taunted by it until he falls off the edge of sanity.

Red paints his vision.

Cabin hollow, the front door is wide open. It sways back and forward as a gentle breeze blows.

……………..

“Well, lads, we may have not found the biggest treasure of them all but we found a hidden gem,” the ringleader, you come to learn known as Mike, cheers.

His men hoot and holler gathered around logs engulfed in wild flames. They sit on wooden stoops and giant boulders collected from nearby. From flasks they drink and eat meat cooked on the dancing flames.

In Mike’s lap, you sit. A collar tightly hugs your neck and silver chains attached to it stings and scorches your skin, tearing small whimpers from your chest.

“She’s definitely a gem,” one of them chirps, licking his chapped lips.

“See, I ain’t so bad at finding things after all,” Jimmy states. “I found you a little pet to ease the painful nights away when that nagging wife of yours stirs chaos.”

The men chuckle, poking fun at Mike. He yanks the chains, forcing you uncomfortably close to his chest.

“That’s right boys, I’ve got myself a little toy to take my frustrations out on when Betty throws hissy fits.”

His words birth an acidcoats your tongue along with bile from your throat.

A toy. These filthy pigs for humans don’t even recognize you as a woman let alone a human being. You’re just an object to play with until they’ll eventually toss you aside. The very thought, no, fact pulls bile up your throat.

You want to scream. Stab your claws deep in Mike’s eyeballs, drawing out streams of blood. You don’t. You can’t. Fear won’t allow such a privilege— you being brave and daring.

With a silver dagger, he already sliced a line in your cheek that’s still slowly regenerating. It hurt like hell as he etched it in your soft flesh.

Before these men even came to the cabin you wondered of Remmick’s whereabouts since he hadn’t come home yet. After the harsh word that cut deeply in his chest, you questioned if he would come back.

I hate you.

How could you utter such a thing to him? All he’s ever done is protect you and show love that feels like millions of soft, warm kisses from the sun.

Now he’s gone and so are you. Far away in the winds.

Some small part of you thinks you deserve this hell for the heart wrenching words you stabbed him with.

“Hey,” Mike's voice says, ripping you from your lake of thoughts. “I know you hear me talking to you, girly.”

“Look at that. She’s already giving him attitude,” a man beside Jimmy teases.

Jimmy snickers, lips curving. His unpleasant facial features illuminated by the fire’s glowing light. “You best put that gal in her place before she gets ahead of herself, Mike.”

Mike's face, oily and grimy, flushes bright red. Veins protrude in his skin and his grip tightens on the chains as he jerks them.

Neck sore from his constant yanking, you pull away in protest.

“Oh, now that’s what I’m talking about. She’s got some spice to her!” One of the men chirps wildly in his spot.

The rest of Mike’s men join in the fun, laughing and teasing him about your sudden disobedience. Their mockery adds fuel to his boiling anger. He springs to life on his feet, knocking you to the ground in the process. You land with a soft thud on the patchy grass.

“Strip ‘fore I put one of these silver bullets through that stony skull of yours. I’ll teach you a lesson about respect.”

………………..

A nearby stream, the rocky trail stretching through the trees, outside around the cabin, he searches in a chaotic frenzy for you. Deadly fangs on display, claws ready for slicing skin to shreds, eyes glowing a wicked red, Remmick’s storms through the woods.

As he continues sniffing and looking around for you in every crevice, he spots several marks on the ground. Human and horse hooves. He’s a zooming bolt, dashing as he follows the endless trail of footfalls engraved in the damp patchy mud.

Reaching above the tall trees are clouds of white smoke, wispy in long streams touching the night sky. A hint. He’s no longer on his feet racing through trees. Remmick is like a fearless bird defying gravity, soaring in the air.

As he closes in to where the smoke rises, he lands on the ground lightly and continues sprinting. All his mind fathoms is you, praying to a god that no longer hears his cries and one he always defied and detested. Though the man high above in the clouds words of prayer always brought him comfort in rough times like this one.

Not too far away, he sees the men—vampire hunters. Usually he’d be quick on his heels, dashing in the opposite direction in fear of dying a miserable and painful death. Yet, now he finds himself running right into the jaws of the lions.

Springing high in the air, Remmick lands on a tree branch, light on his feet, careful not to draw their gazes his way. His eyes flicker around are until he finds you. Lusting bloodshed, he almost launches off the branch as his eyes take in the sight of you.

You’re crying, wearing only underwear and a collar with a chain for a leash as if you’re some sort of mouth foaming beast that needs taming.

“Them fucking bastards,” his snarls out a silent whisper.

He wants to tear and rip his claws through them all, not leaving any of them left breathing. But he inhales in and out, cooling the overwhelming anger he feels. He has to be smart or it’ll be his and your grave.

That’s the case and plan until the man holding the chains touches you with his filthy hands. You cry, squirming and begging him to stop. Then when you scream Remmick’s name he’s no longer on the branch.

Blood splatters everywhere. It sprinkles on the dancing flames. The fire wavers until more blood sprays out gushing, killing the flames. With the red orangish light gone all is left is the moonlight, a mere dim glow.

Mike, gurgling on blood, drops to the ground with a loud thud. His men scream his name, and scatter in circles for their gear. Unlike them, human and blind to the dark, Remmick sees clearly as if the sun was shining.

Like a lightning bolt, he blurs after each man. His talon-like claws, split flesh, opening up their throats. In the silent night all you can hear is splattering of liquid as you cower, sobbing too horrified to open your eyes.

Remmick doesn’t even gift them the opportunity to cry and beg for mercy, slaying them all in a heartbeat.

Nine men in pools of their own blood, one more to go. The man, Jimmy, crabwalks on his ass. Furious crimson glowing eyes are the last thing he sees before he’s choking on his own blood. His body rattles before going limp as thestones in the grass.

Remmick, covered in blood from head to toe, chest deflates a long heavy sigh. Relief washes over him as the smell of iron fills his senses. In the corner of his eyes he sees you crumpled on the ground. You’re a shaky mess.

“Darlin, it’s okay I’m here now. I’m here.”

He’s quick at your side, kneeling and wrapping you in his arms—bridal style.

“Remmick?” Your eyelids flutter open through tears.

“Yeah, it’s me, darlin. I’ve got you now. Let’s get you home and clean.”

You lean into his warm embrace, sniffling. A kiss of his soft lips atop your forehead calms your rapid pulse.

…………

Back home in the messy cabin, Remmick ignores it all and carries you to the bathroom. He whispers to you a myriad of apologies, voice broken to pieces.

“I’m sorry I should’ve been home when it happened. You were probably so scared, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry too. I don’t hate you at all, Rem. I love you.”

He runs a warm bath for you and helps you discard your underwear. He places you in the water and washes you while peckering kisses on your face.

“I‘ll never let you out of my sight again. I promise.”

“You guys are missing the point of the movie.”

“Why are there so many Remmick fanfics?”

Like…..one everyone knows the meaning of the movie. Two, people like Remmick!!! What’s wrong with that??? Why is it so bad that we like a fine ass white man??? I understand calling out people who wrote weird things like plantation daughter or kkk member, but people who simply like Remmick getting harassed is crazy!!! I’m talking this girl literally tagged me in a whole separate post on her page FIRST. Then got mad when I tagged her back clocking her!!

This is why I barely associate with fandom spaces now because people lack fandom etiquette. God forbid you like something else that they deem bad when it’s not even bad. I’m so sick and tired of this nonsense.

At this point I’m just gonna block people cause I’m drained. I’m sick of yall think pieces and I’m sick of the harassment. Touch grass and stop policing people online, you’re a grown ass adult btw…get a job and if you’re so free with extra time on your hands get another one because you need it!!

Now if anyone else wants that smoke I got it and it will be the block button—congratulations you will be on the block party with all the other obsessed weirdo haters if so!!💁🏾‍♀️

@luna-thecreator For one, miss clown, I do understand the meaning of the movie. I see the problem here. You one of them weirdos who wanna police what people wanna write about. Girl stop tagging me and talking in my comments about me writing what I wanna write and touch some fucking grass. I swear people can’t do nothing without wannabe social justice warriors like YOU saying something. Like oh who are you??? Instead of worrying about what people like me wanna write about how about you go worry about yourself.

So what if I like Remmick and wanna write fanfics about him. That’s what I wanna do. If I don’t wanna write about Smoke and Stack there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re just another loser seeking attention for clout on Tumblr. Grow tf up and leave people alone. Class dismissed, Miss Clown. 💋

Lowkey I wrote one too though so likeeee yeah who am I too even be speaking 💀

But no seriously it’s super funny to me tehe